


From 'A' to 'Z'

by PipMer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parentlock, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: A series of 221b ficlets, with a twist.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74





	1. 221a

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I would do something different. I decided to write a series of 221b ficlets, with a twist. Instead of them all ending with a ‘b’ word, I am going to go down the alphabet from ‘a’ to ‘z’. So for example, the first chapter I post (this one) will be a 221A ficlet, ending with an ‘a’ word. There is no overarching storyline, each chapter is basically a standalone. Let’s see how it goes! Enjoy!
> 
> Additional tags to be added.

Sherlock!”

“John?”

John stands in the doorway of the bathroom, hands on his hips and giving him what Sherlock has come to call his “disgruntled hedgehog” glare. His wet hair stands up on end, disheveled and spiky. A white towel is wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water bead on his skin as they drip onto the floor, unheeded by the semi-naked man.

“Did you pay the gas bill last month?”

Sherlock scoffs. Really, he can’t be bothered with such mundane trivialities. His gaze flicks appreciatively over John’s form before shuttering his expression into indifference. He flicks his hand in the air as he pulls his attention back to his laptop.

“Dull. I thought we agreed you would manage the bills?”

John huffs. “I _told_ you to take care of it this time because I was going to be out of the country! Or don’t you remember that I’ve been in Glasgow for the past two weeks?”

Ah. Sherlock had forgotten, and now John’s hot water has turned frigid in the middle of his shower. Unfortunate. He would have enjoyed pulling that towel off of John Watson’s hips and joining him. However, a cold shower does not sound in the least inviting.

“Apologies.”

No, too contrite.

Sherlock sniffs. “Next time I’ll pass on the chore to Mrs Hudson.”

John snorts.

“Arse.”


	2. 221b

“John, the solution is obvious.”

“It’s not obvious to _me._ ”

“Well, that’s because you’re an idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Honestly, John, what could be more perfect? You won’t have to pay a babysitter. You won’t have to ‘impose’ on either Mrs Hudson or Molly, even though you know that neither of them mind. She can stay in her home environment with as little disruption as possible. It’s not like I’ve never minded her before.”

“Maybe for a few hours, but not for an entire weekend. She’ll have you climbing the walls in no time. And what if Greg calls you for a case?”

“I”ll make it known that I’m taking a mini-holiday. Three days off from the Work. It’ll be fun. We’ll go for walks in the park, experiment with -“

“No experiments!”

“… which violin melodies put her to sleep the fastest, get out her colouring books, read her some stories… Honestly, John, you make it seem like one needs an advanced degree in order to raise a child.”

“Everyone you know who’s raised children _does_ have an advanced degree.”

“This is true. However - wait. Mary didn’t have an advanced degree.”

John cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat.

“Okay, point taken. However, I am a genius. Babysitting Rosie will be a breeze.”

It was _not_ a breeze.


	3. 221c

"Gavin, I have a very important question to ask you.”

“Sherlock, my name is…you know what? Doesn’t matter. What’s the question?”

“I have proposed to John, and I would like you to be my best man.”

Greg blinked. “Really? _You_ proposed to _John_? Will wonders never cease. Good on you, mate.”

Sherlock huffed. “No commentary necessary. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do.”

“Well, how could I say no? Although why aren’t you asking Mycroft? Surely he would be your first choice?”

“Not an option.”

“Okay. Sure! It’d be an honour, Sherlock. When’s the big day?”

“January 29. That’s the date we met, ten years ago.”

“Aww, who would have taken you for a romantic?”

“Shut up, Glenn.”

+++

“So John, what’s so urgent that you needed an emergency pub night? Sherlock driving you round the bend again?”

“Actually, it’s the exact opposite. We’re getting married, mate! He proposed last Friday. Thought I was gonna have to do it myself for awhile there; we’ve been together for almost three years now.”

“Yeah, he mentioned! I saw him today at the morgue while I was visiting Molly.”

“Molly, eh? How’s that going?”

“So far, so good.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, the reason I wanted to meet up was – I was wondering if you’d be my best man.”

Greg blinked.

“Ah, crap.”


	4. 221d

John had a few theories of what Rosie’s first word would be. Being co-parented by an ex-army doctor and the world’s only consulting detective, the top five choices were, in order of likelihood: murder, case, clue, idiot, experiment.

The typical first words, ones like ‘Dada’, ‘Mama’, ‘No’, or ‘Bye’, were of course too mundane for the likes of John Watson’s daughter. At least, according to Sherlock. Nor would it be as low-brow as a curse word, overheard from her sweary father.

“John, there’s no way her first word is going to be ‘shit’, ‘damn’, ‘hell’, or ‘bastard’. Really, how unimaginative.”

John laughed. “Well, heaven forbid. I’m sure it will be something having to do with solving mysteries. She’s surrounded by detectives on a regular basis, I’m sure she picked something up from them.”

Sherlock made a face. “Or from Mycroft. I’ll kill him if her first word is ‘brolly’.”

When the day did come, and the word was spoken, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Of course it was that word; what other could it possibly be?

Sherlock stood in front of his board, staring at all of the strings and thumb tacks and photographs, brain making connections. John walked in with Rosie in his arms. She took her thumb out of her mouth, pointed, and proclaimed…

“Deduction!”


	5. 221e

“It’s hateful, Mrs Hudson.”

“You won’t get any argument from me, Sherlock. I think it’s simply horrendous. Not to mention unattractive.”

“You mean ugly.”

“Well…”

“Did you tell him?”

“What, that it’s ugly? Of course not! I’m not a monster. I told him that it ages him.”

“That’s putting it mildly. I can’t be seen running around with an old man.”

“Have you talked to him, Sherlock? I mean, since the restaurant…”

“John has made his feelings quite clear.”

“He may have changed his mind by now. After having a chance to cool off.”

“Yes, well -- he knows where to find me.”

Mrs Hudson shook her head as she turned away, tutting under her breath. 

“So stubborn, the both of you.”

“He was stubborn first.”

“And you left first. What else was he supposed to do, but get on with his life? The ball’s in your court now, young man.”

And it always came down to that, didn’t it? The fact that he left. That he stayed away for two years with nary a word to the man who was supposedly his best friend. Graham and Mrs Hudson both had been happy to see him, but John Watson? John had punched him -- not once, but three times. Sherlock sighed. He should have known. It always came down to this.

Human error.


	6. 221f

Mike Stamford had been waiting for this day for what felt like an eternity. The only thing that had taken longer was his own search for a soulmate, to whom he was currently happily married. 

Molly Hooper and Henry Knight? Check. Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner? Check. Mycroft Holmes and Inspector Lestrade? Check. 

And now, after several ages, Sherlock and John. 

Mike had been watching those two idiots dance around each other from the moment they first met. Gut instinct never steered him wrong, and his faith never wavered. Not when Sherlock jumped from Barts rooftop and everyone presumed he was dead for two years. Not when Watson got married to the wrong person, twice. Not even when John packed Rosie up and moved to the coast, kicking off an almost decade-long estrangement. 

Some things were just meant to be. Everybody saw it. Everybody, that is, except for the two idiots in question.

Until the most recent New Year’s Eve gala at Barts. Mike kept passing out beers to John and whiskeys to Sherlock until they were both at the premium level of intoxication. Then he steered them both under the mistletoe at the same time. When the two finally locked lips, to the raucous applause and wolf whistles of everybody there, Mike blew out a sigh of relief.

Fucking finally.


	7. 221g

The Holmes-Watson family was unconventional, to say the least. By and large, theirs was a family of choice. Especially when it came to defining everyone’s role in relation to Rosie.

She had so many uncles, it was almost embarrassing. Uncle Mycroft, Uncle Greg, Uncle Bill, Uncle Mike, just to name a few. She had almost as many aunts: Aunt Harry, Aunt Molly, Aunt Janine, Aunties Sally and Stella (those two came as a unit these days). 

John was Daddy, of course. Sherlock, eventually, became Papa. Mr and Mrs Holmes, to their delight, were referred to as Nana and Granddad. John would never deny them that, given that they would most likely (most certainly, Mycroft claimed) have no other grandchildren. 

Even Mrs Turner’s married ones, David and Patrick, had edged their way into the inner circle. Rosie had them wrapped around her little finger, even more so when she started calling them her cousins. Where she got that from, remained a mystery for years to come.

But her favoritest person in the world (her wording, and one Sherlock never had the heart to correct) was one who no longer had any blood relatives left living, and had never had any children of her own. So when Rosie bestowed her title upon her, there wasn’t a dry eye left in the flat.

“Gran!”


	8. 221h

When the child produced from Sherlock’s sperm and Harry’s egg was born, John was as besotted as he had been with Rosie. This was Sherlock's child. And a Watson, through the miracle of modern medicine. John would be forever grateful to his sister for this gift.

And Sherlock - god, _Sherlock!_ John had never seen him so entranced as when he held his own child for the first time. Not even when presented with a locked-room mystery. 

He should have known this fact about his partner, after watching him with Rosie for going on six years now. John should have realised it back when Sherlock and Archie used to hang out together, kindred spirits who still believed in wonder and adventure. That’s what John loved the most about him, that he made people - not just children - believe that the world really did contain magic of a sort. You just had to _look_ for it. And Sherlock excelled at looking.

As John stood at Sherlock’s side gazing at the baby in Sherlock’s arms, he wondered what his partner would choose for a name. He was the spitting image of John at that age, but there was no way Sherlock would know that. Then Sherlock opened his mouth and whispered a word that made John’s stomach swoop and brought tears to his eyes.

“Hamish.”


	9. 221i

Sherlock and John were most decidedly a couple, but they most decidedly did not call each other pet names. Sweetheart, darling, honey, _pumpkin_... they all made Sherlock's skin crawl and his eyes twitch. In his mind, terms of endearment were to be reserved for children _(Rosie)_ and baby animals _(Gladstone)_. People had Christian names for a reason, for god's sake. "Sherlock" was good enough for him, and he knew that "John" was good enough for his partner. In fact, Sherlock thrilled in saying John's name in such a way that resulted in both of them horizontal in their bedroom. It was the way the words were said, not the words themselves.

Janine had gotten a kick out of calling him 'my dearly beloved detective'. The phrase had set Sherlock's teeth on edge. He was none of those things, except for the detective part, and he never understood why she had called him that -- other than the fact that she had given him a run for his money in terms of manipulation.

But ever since that first day, there was one word that John would call him that never failed to make Sherlock go weak in the knees. Just three syllables, spoken in that breathy tone of his, combined with a fond (or amused) look that always took Sherlock's breath away:

_"Idiot."_


	10. 221j

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a companion piece to the previous chapter, "221i".

John detested pet names with every fibre of his being. Whenever any of his girfriends used one, he inwardly cringed whilst trying not to outwardly react. It was difficult at times, though. Sarah never did call him anything other than his name, thank goodness. Jeannette, on the other hand, insisted on calling him every endearment in the book, it seemed. Thank mercy for small favours, Mary had very rarely done so; the occasional _love_ would cross her lips, and that was almost all right. Almost. 

Rosie, on the other hand, was bombarded with pet names on an almost daily basis. John couldn’t help himself, she was just so adorable. Even Sherlock could rarely refrain when it came to her. But that was different, of course. Little children soaked up affectionate names like the little sponges they were.

When he and Sherlock became a couple, John had no worries whatsoever about Sherlock embarrassing him in public with terms of endearment. Or even in private, for that matter. And John was A-OK with that. More than. 

But...

Long before they became an item, there was a word Sherlock tended to say in such a way that frequently resulted in instant arousal on John’s part. Nothing turned John on more than having that word addressed to him in Sherlock’s rich, deep, chocolate-smooth voice:

_"John."_


	11. 221k

They were pressed up against each other so tightly they could barely breathe. John kept trying, and failing, to suppress his giggles.

“Shh!” Sherlock hissed, as quietly but firmly as he could. Normally he’d be joining John in his amusement, but between the circumstances they found themselves in and Sherlock’s inconvenient arousal, he was wound too tightly to let down his guard even for a second.

“Sorry,” John whispered. “You have to admit, though; hiding behind a skip, with me stuck between you and a concrete wall, gives new meaning to the phrase ‘between a rock and a hard place’”. John pressed his fist to his mouth to contain the laughter threatening to burst forth.

Sherlock glared at him. “Childish. If you don’t settle down, you’ll give ourselves away!”

John batted his eyelashes coquettishly. “I’ve already given myself away, darling, to my one and only.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Whatever has gotten into you? We’re on a stakeout, behave!”

John grinned. “You’re no fun.” He bumped shoulders with Sherlock and gave his hand a quick squeeze before returning to soldier mode. “All right, who are we - hey, is that him? The bald bloke in a green jacket?”

“Yes. Right on time. Got your gun?”

“Yep.”

“Giggles under control?”

“Ready when you are.”

And off they went, in pursuit of a killer. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find these ficlets at my tumblr as well, www.pipmer.tumblr.com under the tag 'writing experiment'.


End file.
